Toby looked up. “So?” he said, acting a little tough because Daniel was the class runt. He wouldn’t have liked Andy Beaver to see him being too nice to Daniel, in case Andy Beaver’s gang started to treat him the same way. Leaving thumbtacks on his seat, hiding his books, things like that.

Daniel said, “I had bad dreams, too. Real scary ones. I dreamed I was walking through this forest and suddenly all these things came dropping out of the trees.”

“What’s scary about that?”

“What’s scary about somebody stuck in a wardrobe?”

“Well, it was scary at the time,” said Toby.

“So was mine.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Toby unwrapped his Baby Ruth and started to chew it. A coolish breeze from the west raised dust on the yard, and in the distance a cock began to crow.

Daniel said, “We’re not the only ones. Ben Nichelini had a bad dream too. He dreamed he was running and running and all these fierce people were trying to catch him.”

“Everybody has dreams like that,” said Toby.

“Well, I guess so,” admitted Daniel. “I just think it’s funny all these kids having bad dreams.”

Andy Beaver came up, burbling and warbling like R-2 D-2. Daniel didn’t bother to stick around. When Andy was in a playful mood, it usually meant that Daniel was going to get his hair twisted or his shorts pulled down. Daniel said so long to Toby, and ran away across the yard and into the classroom.

“Have you been talking to teacher’s pet?” asked Andy. He was blond and pugnacious, and would probably spend most of his adult life watching baseball and drinking Old Milwaukee.

Toby screwed up his eyes against the sun. “What if I have?”

“You just don’t talk to teacher’s pet, that’s all. He’s a sissy.”

"His mom just died. Maybe you’d be a sissy if your mom just died.”

“I wouldn’t be a sissy for nothing. What were you talking about?”

Toby finished his chocolate bar and screwed up the paper. “What’s it to you?”

Andy Beaver grabbed his hand and bent his fingers back. Toby yelped in pain, but Andy was much stronger, and he couldn’t get free. A couple of the other kids came over, yelling, “Fight! Fight!” Toby and Andy fell to the dusty ground and rolled over and over, kicking and grunting and punching.

At last, Andy held Toby down on the ground, his knees pressed against Toby’s arms. Both of them were flushed and grubby, and there were tears in their eyes.

Andy said, “Okay—what were you talking about? I want to know!”

Toby coughed. “We were talking about those bad dreams, that’s all. Nothing that you’d understand.”

“Oh yeah?”